


I can't carry this anymore

by Side_effect_of_the_meds



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Blood, Dadmack, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, allusions to the thanksgiving thing, soft angsty family bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Side_effect_of_the_meds/pseuds/Side_effect_of_the_meds
Summary: Wymack wakes late one night to find a little gremlin in his kitchen (aka giving myself closure about the whole Thanksgiving fiasco)
Relationships: Abby Winfield/David Wymack, Andrew Minyard & David Wymack, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 22
Kudos: 289





	I can't carry this anymore

Rolling onto his back, Wymack felt the springs of his mattress bite into him. Cursing quietly, he made a mental note to look for a new one. Honestly, he didn’t mind but Abby had quite a few qualms with it. 

“You’re getting old, Davy,” she chided. “It’s not good for your back.” Waving away her concerns, Wymack kept putting it off. It wasn’t long before her patience wore thin and she began outright refusing to come over until he got rid of the wretched thing. She did make it clear, however, that Wymack would always have a place in her bed should he want it. With the rest of the team back from the break, there was little chance he’d take her up on her offer anytime soon but it was nice to know he had a place there. 

_She’s the best you’ve ever had, a little voice in his head said. She’s sweet and kind and patient. That doesn’t mean she’s going to wait forever though._

“I know,” he whispered into the darkness. “This summer, I swear.” A crash and bang from somewhere inside the apartment startled Wymack from his conversation. _It’s about damn time_ , he thought to himself as he hauled himself out of bed. Tugging a hoodie over his undershirt, Wymack trudged out of his room. From the doorway, he saw the bright glow of the fluorescent bulbs in his kitchen. Squinting, he shuffled down the corridor towards it. “Gremlin,” he called in lieu of hello. Andrew didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. Wymack shook his head and began inspecting the ingredients laid out on the counter. “It’s a little late for cake.” 

“It’s a little early for you to be running your mouth.” 

“Someone’s been missing their boyfriend.” The spoon that came hurtling his way missed Wymack by a hair. “Don’t push me, Drew,” he warned. Andrew turned away to rummage through the drawers in search of a new utensil. Ducking beneath the counter, Wymack drew out the stand mixer. Of all the accommodations Wymack had made for his Foxes, the stand mixer and ice cream churner had been the oddest. Both of them had been paid for out of pocket and had been collecting dust since Thanksgiving. They’d have no use when the cousins left either. Running his hand over the cool steel, Wymack wondered what Kevin would say if his parting gift to Andrew was an ice cream maker. A small smile curled the edges of his lips knowing that he would go ballistic. It didn't matter. Kevin would have graduated by then anyway.

The court wouldn’t be the same without Kevin. Sure, Wymack could yell at the team but he definitely preferred watching Kevin boss everyone around instead. Someday, that boy was going to have to learn how to speak without giving orders. 

Grabbing a couple sticks of butter from the disaster zone surrounding Andrew, Wymack threw them into the bowl. He took the powdered sugar out of the cabinet, barely avoiding the spilled flour on the floor. 

“You better clean this up when you’re done,” he said. Andrew grumbled noncommittally. Deep down, Wymack knew that when he woke the next morning the kitchen would be cleaner than it had been to begin with but he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to give Andrew shit. He only had another three years to do it. _Two and a half_ , the little voice reminded him. Two and a half years was a long time and Wymack knew it. That didn’t stop his gut from twisting just a little. Would Andrew be ready to leave by then? 

Plugging in the mixer, he dumped powdered sugar into the bowl before starting it up. Wymack let the whirring of the equipment drown out his thoughts. Beside him, Andrew was banging cake pans on the counter to let the air out. Reaching out, Wymack waited for Andrew to hand him the bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream. He eyeballed the amount he added into the buttercream, just as he always did. Wymack had always been a bit heavy-handed with alcohol but it didn’t matter. Sugar and alcohol were Andrew’s favorite things anyway. Putting the two of them together was the way to the little monster's heart. 

A pretty face and a toxic tongue seemed to be as lethal a combination. When Kevin had brought him Neil’s file, Wymack had been intrigued. Flying out to Millport had affirmed all Kevin had said. From the moment they’d met him, Wymack knew that Neil ate, slept, and dreamt Exy. He was perfect and not just for the line. Wymack had agreed to signing Neil both as a means of strengthening the offense line and in the hopes of motivating Andrew. Matchmaking was well above his pay grade but watching Andrew ogle Neil was priceless. What he hadn’t expected was for Andrew to fall so hard. Whether this road led to healing or heartbreak, Wymack didn’t know and part of him was afraid he’d find out soon. 

Snapping the mixer off, he heard the soft ticking of the timer. He pulled the arm up and popped the paddle off. Offering it to Andrew, he waited while the little demon tasted the buttercream. A short nod affirmed that it was done. Saran wrapping the bowl shut, Wymack stuck it in the fridge and traded it out for a couple of beers. He left Andrew’s on the counter before making his way out of the kitchen and headed for the balcony. The soft padding of feet told him that Andrew was right at his heels. Throwing the door open, Wymack let the cold air hit his face as he stepped out. 

A flame flared to life beside him. Andrew lit up two cigarettes, passing one over. They popped the tabs of their cans and sat down on opposite ends of the balcony. A few minutes passed in silence before Wymack caved. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, quietly. 

“You didn’t ask,” Andrew replied. Anger washed over Wymack. 

“How the fuck would I know to ask about something like that?” Andrew took a drag of his cigarette. _He’s stalling._

When his response came, it came so softly that Wymack nearly missed. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.” 

“Why the hell wouldn’t I?” 

“No one else ever did.” A few years ago, Wymack had seen a documentary about the life of a star. The death of it had been awe-inspiring. As the weight of the star collapsed in on itself, it tore a rip in the fabric of space itself, forming a blackhole. That was exactly how Wymack felt now. He tried once, twice, three times to speak but he’d found that his voice had left him, lost in the void left by his collapsing heart. 

Wymack was on his feet moments later. With his voice gone, he resorted to the only other outlet he had for his pain: violence. Crushing his beer can, he spilled its remnants everywhere but he didn’t care. He hurled it over the railing and punched the column closest to him. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. A hand caught his wrist before he could land the fifth.

“You’ll never get the security deposit back,” Andrew’s empty voice was like a void of its own. All those months Wymack had taken every ounce of his rage and bottled it up. He’d let it sit there, bubbling and boiling deep down inside. It flooded out of him and was easily absorbed by Andrew. With all of it gone, Wymack suddenly felt hollow. 

“I don’t care,” he said in defeat. 

“Come help me,” was all Andrew said. He turned on his heel and reentered the apartment. Staying out here would accomplish nothing. Wymack trudged back in, sliding the door shut behind him. They finished out their work in silence. Popping the cakes from their pans Wymack burnt his fingers but he was too numb to really feel it. He set them in the fridge and turned on the sink. He washed out the containers as Andrew cleaned the kitchen up. By the time he’d finished, the counters and floors shone. When the cakes had cooled, Wymack watched from the dining table as Andrew frosted and assembled the layers. 

“If you don’t want to play for Court you could open a bakery instead,” Wymack mused. 

“Where would I get the money for that?” 

“Sell that stupid car.”

“Over my dead body.” Wymack flinched at the thought. 

“Don’t say that.” Wymack knew about the scars hiding beneath Andrew’s black bands. In fact, he’d come home to find a trail of blood leading to his bathroom. Barging in, he’d found a bleeding Andrew trying desperately to wrap his cuts on his own. There was nothing in the world that Andrew was ashamed of. Well, almost nothing. Despite the reputation he’d built for himself, Andrew wasn’t a monster. In fact, he was the most human person Wymack had ever met. It made him sick to his stomach to see the cracks in his own facade but Wymack knew that they were a source of reassurance too. Every time Andrew faltered, he was faced with the undeniable proof that he had flaws and weaknesses; that he was human. 

Andrew sliced the cake into eight pieces, plated two and brought them over with a pair of forks. He set one down in front of Wymack before taking his seat on top of the table just as he always did. Wymack had once joked it was because Andrew liked to feel tall. In return, Wymack had awoken the next morning to find that someone had poured out all his liquor and replaced them with the most god awful moonshine. He’d been sick for almost a week. Had that taught Wymack his lesson? Definitely not. Nothing would ever stop him from messing with Andrew. 

“Could have used more sugar,” Andrew said. 

“You’re going to rot the teeth out of your skull.” Andrew shrugged. He methodically took apart the cake as he ate. _Something’s bothering him._

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked, suddenly. 

“Regret what?”

“Bringing us- bringing me here.” 

“Andrew Joseph Minyard, look at me,” Wymack snarled. He waited until Andrew looked him in the eye. “I’m going to tell you this once and only once: there is **nothing** in the world that you could possibly do that will **ever** make me regret dragging your ass down here.”

“What if I stabbed you? And I left you here to die?” 

“You wouldn’t do it unless I deserved it.” Something flickered in the depths of his brown eyes. Wymack had seen it more than once but he’d never quite been able to put a name to it. When they’d first met without the drugged haze between them, Wymack had taken a good long look into those eyes and found that they weren’t quite as empty as they seemed. Even so, it never failed to amaze Wymack how much more there was to Andrew than there was on the surface. 

“Big talk from a small man,” Andrew drawled.

“I’ve got a foot and a half on you,” Wymack shot back. The fury that lit up Andrew’s face could have set the world ablaze. “Low blow, I know, but anything higher would have gone right over your head.”

“Fuck you,” he hissed. Wymack picked at his cake, while Andrew polished his off. 

Wymack had never been good at keeping quiet for very long. Often, as a kid, his talkative nature had gotten him into trouble. “You wouldn’t have met Neil if I hadn’t brought you out here.” 

“Coach,” Andrew warned. 

“I know you missed him.” Andrew’s whole body stiffened. Lying had never been his strong suit. His body just wouldn’t allow it. “He missed you too but-”

“But this road leads nowhere good and if I break his heart you’ll lose your best striker,” Andrew said with a wave of his hand.

“Heartbreak is a part of life.” Memories of a woman with long, jet black hair and the greenest eyes flitted across the back of his lids. “It’s what happens next that matters. Neil will bounce back; there’s nothing that kid can’t take. It’s not his heart that I’m worried about.” _It’s yours_. The words went unspoken but Wymack knew Andrew heard them anyway. 

Clenching his jaw shut, Andrew slipped off the table to put the plates in the sink. Wymack stood and headed for the coat closet. Dragging out the extra blankets, Wymack threw a pillow onto the couch. A glance at the clock told him it was four-thirty in the morning. With a sigh, Wymack went to brew the morning’s coffee. There was no chance he’d get any sleep anyway. As he washed the dishes in the sink, he caught sight of Andrew asleep on the couch. Even from this far away, Wymack saw the way the tension had melted from his form. Seeing it felt like a knife to the gut. Around his family, Andrew always seemed so old, so mature. _He’s just a kid_ , Wymack thought. 

Deep down, Wymack knew Andrew didn’t need his sympathy. He might have grown up alone but he wasn’t anymore. He had a family now. No matter what happened, neither Nicky nor Aaron would abandon him. Thanksgiving had proved that. Andrew was even making friends. Renee and Kevin cared for him wholeheartedly. And then there was Neil. There was a good chance that _that_ wouldn’t end in flames. Assuming that they stayed together, Andrew would never be alone again. Honestly, it had never really been about whether or not Andrew would be ready to leave. The real question was whether or not Wymack would be ready to let go and right now? The answer was no. 


End file.
